War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [93]
The halted infantry soldiers, crowding in the trampled mud by the bridge, gazed at the clean, foppish hussars going past them in order, with that special feeling of ill will, alienation, and mockery with which different branches of the military usually meet each other.
“Spruced-up lads! Fit for the fairground!”
“What’s the good of them! They’re only led around for show!” said another.
“Don’t raise dust, you footsloggers!” joked a hussar, whose horse, prancing, splashed mud at the infantryman.
“Make a couple of marches with a pack on your back, your fancy trim will turn shabby,” the infantryman said, wiping the mud from his face with his sleeve, “or maybe it’s not a man but a bird perched up there!”
“Wouldn’t you be a nimble one, Zikin, if they set you on a horse,” a corporal joked to a thin little soldier bent under a heavy pack.
“Put a stick between your legs, that’ll do you for a horse,” rejoined the hussar.
VIII
The rest of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezing into a funnel at the entrance. Finally all the carts passed over, the crush eased up, and the last battalion entered the bridge. Only the hussars of Denisov’s squadron remained on the other side of the bridge facing the enemy. The enemy, visible in the distance from the opposite hill, were not yet visible from the bridge below, because, from the bottom where the river flowed, the horizon was bounded by the opposite heights less than half a mile away. Ahead was a deserted space over which clusters of our Cossack patrols moved here and there. Suddenly on the road going up the opposite heights appeared troops in blue coats and artillery. It was the French. A Cossack patrol moved down the hill at a trot. All the officers and men of Denisov’s squadron, though they tried to talk about unrelated things and look elsewhere, constantly thought only about what was there on the hill, and kept peering at the spots that appeared on the horizon, which they recognized as enemy troops. After midday the weather cleared again, the sun shone brightly, going down over the Danube and the dark hills around it. It was still, and once in a while from that hill floated the sounds of bugles and the shouts of the enemy. Between the squadron and the enemy there was now nothing but some small patrols. They were separated by an empty space of about six hundred yards. The enemy stopped shooting, and that strict, menacing, inaccessible, and elusive line that separates two enemy armies became all the more clearly felt.
“One step beyond that line, reminiscent of the line separating the living from the dead, and it’s the unknown, suffering, and death. And what is there? who is there? there, beyond this field, and the tree, and the roof lit by the sun? No one knows, and you would like to know; and you’re afraid to cross that line, and would like to cross it; and you know that sooner or later you will have to cross it and find out what is there on the other side of the line, as you will inevitably find out what is there on the other side of death. And you’re strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and surrounded by people just as strong and excitedly animated.” So, if he does not think it, every man feels who finds himself within sight of an enemy, and this feeling gives a particular brilliance and joyful sharpness of impression to everything that happens in those moments.
On a knoll occupied by the enemy, the smoke of a shot appeared, and a cannonball flew whistling over the heads of the hussar squadron. The officers, who were standing together, rode to their posts. The hussars assiduously began lining up their horses. Everything became hushed in the squadron. Everyone kept looking ahead at the enemy and at the squadron commander, awaiting a command. Another cannonball flew over, then a third. Obviously, the shots were aimed at the